


Chrysanthemum Is For Remembering The Dead So Why Is It Even In Your Yard In The First Place It's A Depressing Thing Do You Not Know About Flower Language

by Dinosquirrel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ALL OF IT, Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Flower Language, Flowers, Fluff, Food, M/M, Mycroft is a dick, Sherlock has a cat, Slow-ish burn, Suicide mention, but it's great, doesn't care! sherlock, in-universe, isn't that just always him?, john lives alone in a house, kind of, like every 2 weeks, long title, lots of them - Freeform, mycroft hates sherlock, past death, research?, sherlock lives alone, sherlock's an orphan thanks to euros, so not sporadicallly, will be updated sporadically, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinosquirrel/pseuds/Dinosquirrel
Summary: An AU based on the awful-aus tumblr prompt that's "Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard” AU. At least to start.





	1. Chapter 1

 

I’d been doing it for weeks. I was too lazy to go buy flowers, and I didn’t think anyone lived in the little house down the road from were my parents used to live. It was growing chrysanthemum flowers, for fuck’s sake. No one who knew anything about flowers would put mourning flowers in their front lawn. Out of some version of respect, I made my way down to the cemetery every week, Sunday, 10AM, to go pay him respects. 

Usually, I was respectful about it. But today, I was already sad. Mycroft had yelled at me that it was all my fault, and didn’t stop. He wanted me to move out, even though I’d gotten the house in the will. I didn’t usually like to do this. Being a consulting detective was supposed to make you hard-hearted, at least according to me. I wasn’t supposed to cry when I went to visit his grave.

And so, when I got to the flower house, I just snatched up the prettiest ones. I didn’t care about whether or not there was any kind of ‘aesthetic’ bullshit going on. He used to be my family. But the snatching was my downfall.

A blond man walked out the door. “Hey! I’ve been watching you do this for awhile now! Now, where are you going with my flowers?”

I startled, caught in the act. I said the first thing that came to my head: “I’m going to go see someone.”

“A girl, is it? Well then, let’s see how pretty she is. Maybe she’s pretty enough to allow for flower theft.” He got down from his porch. “Don’t tell me anything until we get there.”

We walked along. He was hobbling on his cane. He didn’t seem like he needed it though. I doubted it was a real injury. Probably something psychosomatic. We walked in silence. So I spent some of the time figuring out him.

His skin was tan, but he didn’t have enough money for a vacation. With a limp… he was likely in the army. Not as an operative, but… pinned to his lapel was a Royal Army Medical Corps sigil. He must’ve been an army doctor or nurse. I noticed that in his pocket he had a phone. The charger was sticking out. It was surrounded by little scratches, probably from a drunkard putting in the charger all wrong. It had an inscription on the back, but I couldn’t tell what it was. He was likely a recovering alcoholic, since the scratches were old. PTSD, probably. Many army surgeons had that. But he was still a little young, so not retired. Discharged? With honor, otherwise he couldn’t take home the pin, but discharged nonetheless. 

I was going to keep deducing, but he started talking to me. “Do you know you’ve been speaking aloud for the past few minutes?”

Well, shit. “No, I didn’t.” I kept my cool. I didn’t really care. I made sure I wasn’t speaking when I thought, ‘we’re on our way to a dead person anyways. Who cares?’

“So how did you even do that?”

“Know everything about you? You heard my thought process.”

He stopped for a moment and turned to me. “But how do you know all that? You know the charger on my phone has it’s dents, but how do you know that’s what a drunkard would do? And I’m not. The inscription is a note from my sister to her now ex. She gave the phone to me because she couldn’t bear it after a few years of seeing it. And she was the drunkard.”

Damn. That made sense. “I wasn’t done collecting information, but I would’ve gotten that.”

“You probably would’ve! And that’s my question. What do you do that you know what you do?”

“I’m a consulting detective. I work with the police. It’s my job to know what they don’t, and what they do. I’ve noticed people. I know how they work, how they live, and how that shapes their appearance. The bags under your eyes show lack of sleep, and put together with the army experience, PTSD. I’ve met people like you before.”

He was silent for awhile. We resumed walking, going past houses with neatly manicured lawns and overgrown gardens. There was nobody else looking around, no one outside. It was just the two of us.

“You know, that’s amazing. I’ve never known anyone who could do that.”

I was startled again by this man. Most people just told me to piss off. I told him that and he burst out laughing. 

“Really? I’d assume they’d be impressed! I mean, to have that kind of attention span? To know how people around you are acting and the why?”

I laughed a little too. It was a little funny. But we kept walking. It was about a half-hour walk to the graveyard from my house, and his was just a few houses down, so it would probably take us awhile.

“I’m John. John Watson.”

“Sherlock.” 

He held out his hand and I shook it. “Never thought I’d be talking to someone who stole flowers from me.”

“Never thought I’d be talking to someone I stole flowers from. You know, I didn’t think anyone lived in that house.”

John shook his head. “I just moved in a few months ago. I was discharged after an explosion and they found a little house I could move into with a fish or two. They’re very peaceful to watch. They just kind of float around, happy.”

“Yeah.” I shut my mouth tight. Dear God, this man was cute. Sure, he had his tough side, but just… his jumper and cane made him look like a young kid pretending to be old. And he was just cute in general, too. I was starting to be glad I’d met him.

A few conversations about nothing later, we arrived. 

“A graveyard is a depressing place for a date.” He looked judgemental. 

I shrugged and opened the gate. “Come on, they’re in here waiting.”

We made our way through. “I don’t see anyone. Maybe she stood you up! Wow, that’d be… where are you going?” He asked.

I didn’t answer, and instead went straight to the grave of my brother. My sister had killed him and my parents when I was young. I was raised by my older brother instead. I set the flowers down.

John inhaled sharply. He didn’t say anything, just read the name on the stone.

“Victor Trevor Holmes. A friend to all. May he rest in peace.”

John wasn’t entirely stupid. He could read the dates. Victor died when he was 8, my then-6-year-old sister killing him, my parents and tried to burn down the house. She didn’t manage to. But she was shipped off to some mental asylum somewhere, but I doubted she was still there. Dangerous and a lost case.

“I-I’m sorry, Sherlock. I thought…”

“Is she pretty enough?”

John looked at me with a shocked expression on his face. “I…”

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have been stealing from your yard. I’m just… lazy.”

He stood in silence for a little longer.

“He was my younger brother and best friend. We used to play all sorts of games together. We would pretend to be pirates. Redbeard and Blackbeard.”

John finally spoke. “Do you miss him?”

“Every day.”

We started on our way back, an uncomfortable silence between us as we left the graveyard. 

“Can I ask, why did you pick my yard? My flowers? Was it just because you thought no one lived there, or…?”

I stared at him. “They’re chrysanthemums. It’s not as common here, but in most of Europe, they are only used for funerals.”

“I just think the flowers in my yard are pretty. I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“The language of flowers! You should do some research sometime. It’s actually really thrilling to find out all the different things you can say with a well-thought-out flower arrangement, from secret codes to simple formal statements, like funerals vs birthdays. Like, lilies are funeral flowers as well, and it would be really out of place to bring that to a wedding. Maybe bring pink roses, or something.”

“How do you- nevermind.” 

“The thing is, John, that the world is an incredible place. There are so many things to figure out! I don’t understand how people can just live a monotone life with a dull family when they could be out learning a new language or something. Anything, really. I mean, you can have what you want, but you can know so much more than that! All it takes is a little patience.”

John laughed, a deep rumbling sound. “And I think I sound naive. No one has any patience, that’s the problem! I’m in this because I thought I’d just go ahead, but no, a bomb went off and I ended up discharged with a limp.”

I hummed in acknowledgment. We walked back in silence. 

When he got to the path to his house, he turned. “I just want to say I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

I smirked. “It’s fine. You couldn’t have known my whole life story just from looking at me.”

He rolled his eyes. I started to walk away to my own house, but he called out again. “Hey, if you’re not busy tomorrow night, would you like to come over for dinner? I don’t really know anyone around here, and you seem like one hell of a good start. 7?”

Was that his way of asking me on a date? Let’s hope so. “Sure!”

With that, I turned back and walked down to my empty house. Sure, I had a cat, but she wasn’t another person. 

“Akili, what are we going to do about this brand new man?”

She had no idea what I was talking about and just rubbed her face on my leg, leading me to the couch where I always petted her. I picked her up and pulled her over, putting Queer Eye on on Netflix. I settled in. Queer Eye wasn’t a super interesting show, but it was fun to deduce the people and what they did and didn’t tell the Fab Five. Also, I was hella gay. 

After about half an episode, Akili lost interest and walked off to go do something else. I got up. I should probably make myself dinner.

But did I care? No. I checked my phone. Nothing from Lestrade or Mycroft. Ugh. Akili came back with a cat toy in her mouth, dropped it at my feet, and looked up at me expectantly. I rolled my eyes and picked it up. Her long black fur was the same shade as my hair as she bounced around like a fool to get the stupid little feather toy. I congratulated her on her fancy jumps. Then she curled up and fell asleep. Like on the toy. I didn’t bother getting it out from under her, and instead just sat there, thinking.

The man wasn’t married, I knew that much. Dated a few times, but nothing recently. When he checked his phone, I had seen a Tinder app, so he must be looking for someone. I didn’t have Tinder myself, but I knew some things about it. I didn’t expect John to have one. He seemed more like he’d rather meet someone somewhere and ask them out then hope for a right swipe, but I didn’t know. 

Maybe that was why he’d asked me to dinner! I sat up. It seemed more likely now. Yes, a lonely guy just met someone, and decided… no, but he was probably not gay. Or bi. And he had just followed me to meet my dead brother. So… it was out of sympathy and apology. 

My phone buzzed. Lestrade! I pulled it out from the couch cushion it had fallen under and opened it. 

“Homicide case, Baker St. 1 dead, some weird-ass items around. Come take a look?”

I didn’t bother responding before throwing my jacket back on. Akili looked up at me and “mrred”, but went back to sleep. My scarf was already around my neck. I needed to take my bike- Baker Street was too far to walk to in a reasonable amount of time, and no one in London in their right mind would use a car. 

So fifteen minutes later, my bike arrived next to a police car. I locked it to the nearby stand and looked at the car. It still had lights going off. Lestrade came up to me. 

“The body’s down in the sewer. The man who found it was walking and fell in about an hour ago. The victim’s been dead for awhile.”

I went down the ladder the police had set up and checked around the body. The underside was wet, but not as wet as the top. So it was a few days ago. Why hadn’t any of the cleaners found it? 

The cause of death wasn’t the fall. There were no signs of trauma. More likely a body dump, or a suicide of a worker. They didn’t have on any identification, nor did they have a uniform on. I checked their hands. No cuts. Nothing around their neck… 

“Did you do any drug testing? An OD?”

Lestrade considered what I said for a moment. “We didn’t yet. Anderson, get someone on that.”

“There aren’t any stab wounds and there’s no sign of trauma. It’s not unlikely to be a suicide, but this does seem like a body dump place. Any identification in evidence?”

“Yeah, we already got it back to the station. Not a sanitation worker. Do you need a ride? I’ll send you back with Anderson.”

I groaned. I could use a ride, but with Anderson? “I’ll bike over.” The station wasn’t too far.

“Anderson has a bike rack.”

There went my excuse. A cruddy day already, I gave in. “Fine.”

I put my bike on his rack and got in the backseat. Even if the front was open, I didn’t want to have to see his ugly face. 

He got in, equally unhappy. “Let’s keep talking to a minimum.”

“Agreed.”

We rode in awkward silence, the other officer in the car putting in their headphones and tuning out from the anger in the air.

This was a thrilling case so far. I couldn’t wait to see how it panned out. 

******

After running the name and finding nothing interesting, I headed home to think. The man’s name was Francesco Demani. He was a youth minister at the local church. Went for runs, ran for city council. Was found out for tax fraud and spent a year in jail. An upper-middle-class life. 

He didn’t even meet anyone of interest in jail who would’ve hated him- a new feature of the police database since a recent streak of murders of people who pissed off someone who was in jail with them. Clean as much as that went.

So instead, I played violin. It was around 10 when I started the case, nearing 3 now. I sighed. Akili woke up and curled around my feet, hoping for a pet. I picked her up and went to the couch.

“Now, I already asked you about John, but what about this case? Hmmm? Do you think he killed himself? Or was it a murwdwer?” I babbled at her. She rubbed her cheek on my turned-up nose, not listening as I listed off what had happened.

Programmers did this too; but they called it rubber duck problems. If you read the code out loud to something, you’re more likely to catch a mistake. It was an acutely human property. I was ashamed to take part, but at the same time, talking out loud to a cat was pretty fun. They had no idea and you could say whatever you wanted without judgment. From the cat, at least. I blinked.

I must’ve fallen asleep with a purring beast in my lap, because when I opened my eyes again, the sunlight shone through the window. 

The good thing about my job is that I couldn’t oversleep: I chose my own hours. Nonetheless, I did have a thing today… John.

What time was it? I searched the couch for my phone, knocking Akili off of my stomach- a very uncomfortable looking spot to sleep, but cats sleep where cats will sleep. I found it buried down in the cushions again. I needed to stop letting it do that.

I had a text from Lestrade, probably about the drug test results. But that didn’t matter. At this point in my life, I didn’t sleep, because if I did, my lack would catch up to me and I’d sleep for 20 hours. Which, luckily, I didn’t do, but it was 5:30. PM. I had a date in an hour and a half and I was half-awake and a mess. 

I ran to the showers. I could get clothes for a dinner later. After washing my hair, I dried it as fast as I could. While walking to my closet, I combed it out. But what do you wear to a dinner not-date? Not jeans, but maybe not slacks… Slacks. And a simple shirt? Business casual? This was not my forte! I knew everything about fashion except when to apply it to myself. Or maybe yes jeans. And a t-shirt. No, too casual. I wanted to make a good first impression. 

I ended up with a pair of slacks and a purple shirt- something that you would go on a third date in, not a first. Hopefully that was good. Back in the bathroom, I put gel in my hair, styling my curls. I put on just a hint of cologne. Oh god, I probably looked too fancy. But I was going to wear a trench coat- the same one I always did- so maybe it wouldn’t look too bad. I put my scarf on at 6:50 and headed over. It wouldn’t take me ten minutes, but it was good to be earl- shit. I ran back to my house, grabbed a bottle of wine, and got to his place at 1 after. Not bad. It was bad decorum to show up to a dinner without a gift for the host! 

I took a deep breath and knocked. John opened the door almost immediately. He was wearing a pair of khakis and a nice jumper. “Hey, Sherlock! Come on in!”

I put on a smile- it wasn’t even fake!- and headed on in. His house was nice. Not super nice, but nice for military discharge. He had it decorated with pieces of artwork signed HW. Not him. 

I went into his dining room where he already had a nice dinner of kebabs out. I put the wine down while he went to get some glasses. 

“So, John, what do you do for a living now that you’re retired? Or are you in between jobs?”

“I’m actually trying to get an interview to work at the hospital downtown.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, there’s a few things I can do with a medical degree.”

Oh! He was a doctor! “Were you a surgeon?”

“Yeah! It was… tough. But I made it through, just like in college. To be honest, I’m glad I’m not an American. We had an American transfer student for a semester and recently, I got a letter from them. They said they were still paying off debt.”

“The American economy kind of sucks. The EU is really one of the better places to get an education. At least, so I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, while I was in the army, we got people from all over.” 

The talk continued for awhile, going back and forth between topics. We agreed on many points, and disagreed only on things that didn’t matter, things like licorice and jelly beans. The kebabs were excellent. 

“Where did you get these?”

“Actually, I made them myself. I mean, I didn’t slaughter the lamb, but I did cut up the veggies and roast them. It’s pretty easy to make them in the oven. But these and pasta are about all I’m good at making.”

“What’s the spice on them?”

“Just some spice I found in my mom’s cupboard once. I stole it awhile back, but haven’t gotten a chance to use it. I don’t really have visitors all that often, so this was a treat for me.”

“Do you ever want to learn to cook more?”

John took a minute to answer. “Yeah, I guess.”

I’d gone to college, but only to learn more basic things. I didn’t have any particular major, so I took whatever classes interested me and majored in cooking. I could bake anything and cook everything else, given the right amount of time.

“Maybe you should come over to my place sometime. I majored in culinary arts. It’d be fun.”

“Yeah, sure! And maybe I’ll pick up on some flower tips so it doesn’t look like my house is a constant funeral.”

I checked my watch under the table. It was nearly 9. “Well, I ought to be heading home. But here’s my number-” I grabbed a piece of paper from my pocket and scribbled on it before continuing- “if you ever want to set up a cooking lesson. I’ll see you around!”

“See you around!”

I left his warm home for the cold of the outside. Walking home, I checked my phone. Lestrade’s team had found his prescribed drugs in his system at dangerous levels. Just a suicide. I let myself be a little sad about that. But I’d just set up a uncapped number of dates with the man I may have a crush on! I was a little thrilled, but kept it to myself. As soon as I arrived home, Akili screamed at me. Shit, I forgot to feed her.

While getting her food, I couldn’t stop smiling. I mean, I could if I tried but I didn’t want to. I felt warm inside. Mycroft’s voice rang through my head, reminding me about getting attached to people and what happens, but I didn’t care. I think I’d go see John again at some point. Even if he was straight, I should have a friend. Someone who didn’t just “tolerate” me like Lestrade did. I heard my cat stop eating and come over to see me. She rubbed her head against my leg, comforting me. Or maybe she just wanted to be petted.

I let out a breath. Even if having friends wasn’t what Mycroft wants for me, at least I know it’s what Redbeard would’ve wanted. 


	2. Chapter 2

He texted me right away the next day. Just a simple “Hello! I’m just making sure this is your number, although I doubt you gave me a fake one. This is John Watson.”

I texted back, but I doubted he was really up. “I did give you the right number.” But that was interesting. I saved him as a contact and put my phone down on the dining room table where I was having coffee. If John was JW, who was HW? Who painted all of his art?

Yesterday had pointed something out to me. Being a consulting detective in the world’s most boring city (at least with the most boring and simple-minded criminals) wasn’t paying me very much. No big plots to take over the city, or opioid addiction. It was all white-collar crime. I could go into private investigating, but I think that’d be a waste of my time. No, I had to get… a day job. 

All this talk with John about flowers made me want to go into the flower industry. I wouldn’t have to have much experience, and already I had done a summer job in high school, so I was probably qualified. I could do food service, but I didn’t really want to. 

So a flower shop it was! There was probably one in the hospital, but John was also trying to work there, and that might be a little close to him. Well, maybe I could say it just slipped my mind last night that I was working there already! He’d only been looking for a job for a few days, right? I printed out my resume and threw it in a bag. 

I got on my bike, making sure to wear my helmet. If I remembered correctly, the gift shop was on the other side of the hospital from where John would’ve been. So that was good. 

I walked into the flower shop. Luckily for me, they had a “hiring” sign out. It wasn’t that surprising- most places did nowadays. The old lady at the front smiled when I came in. 

“Hello! How may I help you today, young man?”

I gave her a fake smile back. “I saw your sign out front. Do you have time for an interview?”

She gestured around at the empty store. “Sit right down!” She pulled up two chairs to the desk. “Now, what’s your name?”

“My name is Sherlock Holmes.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Ida Dahl. So do you have a resume?”

“I do, in fact!” I handed it over, keeping on a pleasant smile. She glanced over it. 

“Well, you’re more than qualified. And we could certainly use the help. When would you like to start?”

I was surprised but resumed my composure immediately. “I could start now if that works for you. All I’d need is an apron.”

“Oh, excellent! I’ve got one right in the back here, why don’t you come with me?”

She was very excited to have help. She didn’t even get any info or ask any questions! Must’ve needed the help for a while. And she was getting on in age, probably wanted someone to take over for her. She was widowed, her ring on her right hand- not divorced, or she would’ve gotten rid of it. She had kids if the photos by her desk were accurate. They all looked like her. She adored her deceased spouse, and their photo was probably in her locket. She was around 70. There was no issue with her weight, she did eat well. 

I was interrupted from my thoughts by her emergence from the pile in the closet. She showed me a simple green apron. I put it on and hung up my coat and scarf. 

“Now, our dress code is pretty simple. Just business casual. But in all honesty, if you wear clothes, I won’t care. The pay is low, only 11 pounds an hour, but it is a living wage. You’re expected to come in shifts, which we can work out after we close today at 9 PM. There aren’t very many people who come in per hour right now compared to some times of the year- Christmas is a good time for people to be hospitalized and people to visit their loved ones- but we’ll get 4 or 5. Mostly, you’ll just be at the front counter, but from your resume, I’m sure you can put together bouquets if requested. Those cost extra, 3 pounds per stem and 10 for putting them together.”

That was a little expensive, but we did already have many different bouquets for sale at prices lower than that. Obviously, Ida knew all about flower language and had set up bouquets for friends, lovers, parents, and everything in between. Ida went back. 

“I think I’ll start making some more while you run the front counter- we’re running low on a few. If anyone comes in, ask if they need any help and do your best, Mr. Holmes.”’

It was a few moments before my first customer arrived. They weren’t in tears. That would be good. That was one of the few things that was really an issue. 

“How may I help you today?”

They came up to the counter. “My boyfriend’s in for a few nights. Do you have anything to brighten up his stay?” 

Well, I was sure he could handle that himself, but I smiled and help him pick out a pretty bouquet anyways. I would’ve given him a rainbow one, but it seemed likely that the reason his boyfriend was in the hospital had a certain rainbow tint to it. 

By the time he paid and left, there were two more people browsing around the store. So began my life of working with flowers.

******

By the time I got home that night, it was nearing dark. I realized that although I’d written my hours down in the book, I hadn’t given the lady a place to pay me. I had a bank account, but I hadn’t told it I was getting a new job. Was that something I was supposed to do? Who even knew with banks.

Banks were one of a few things I didn’t really care about. They didn’t make as much sense as they really should, so I didn’t bother much. I knew enough. I had no texts, except one from Mycroft screaming at me to get a job. Oh damn, he was coming over later, wasn’t he? I had a job now. I could tell him to fuck off. 

My house was clean enough. I thought about texting John to make sure he didn’t come over, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t a rude person. He’d text before he decided to show up. I had been allowed to bring home my apron, expected to clean it. I was a little annoyed with that, but the pay was higher than living wage, at least. Money had never been an issue for me, my parents had paid off their house long ago and were expecting to have a family of five in their house. Mycroft had gotten a few things, but I was the obvious favorite. He got two-thirds of the money they had left. And I didn’t use much, not eating. All I really had to do was pay for the heating, electric and phone bills, and consulting detective paid that over and over. Of course, Akili needed food, but I could pay that too. 

Still, Mycroft was always breathing down my neck about being financially stable- what would I do if there were no more crimes? And now I had a job. That was… based on people being stupid and responses to that. Great! But a hospital job was government-funded, so it was probably okay. He was the government. Now he paid me money. 

I lazed around for a while, petting Akili and making some food- Mycroft did always like to eat well- until I heard a knock at the door. I didn’t bother going over to open it. Mycroft always came in on his own. 

And today was no exception. He looked at me, disdain on his face. He sat down at the table, as far from me as he could get. 

“So, brother of mine, have you gotten a job yet?”

“As a matter of fact, I have! I’m surprised your goonies didn’t tell you. I’m now working for you, indirectly.”

Mycroft stopped eating. “Really?”

“Yes. I now work at the flower shop in the hospital.”

Mycroft snorted. “A flower shop? Could you be any more gay? Oh, wait, you could, because it’s the hospital where your new ‘friend’ works, isn’t it? I ran him through the database, by the way, he’s clean. Just in case you didn’t. Which you didn’t. Emotions got in the way of logic. For all you know, he could work for the next up-and-coming criminal in town.”

He wasn’t supposed to know about John. Damn it! I kept my composure though and instead kept picking at my food.

“You really should eat.”

“And you really shouldn't. Together, we average out to a reasonable-weighted person. Now, have I met your demands for being an adult in a London society?”

He sneered but didn’t answer. I got the last word. We finished our dinner in an uncomfortable silence. 

Akili wound her way around my legs. 

“You’re losing your grip, Sherlock. One of these days, London will get a person who will outsmart you, and Akili and John will be his first targets. Sentimentality is not only an emotional defect- it’s a dangerous one. Good night. Don’t expect any more of these brotherly dinners.”

I let out an audible sigh of relief. On purpose, of course, but Mycroft still rolled his eyes. I didn’t point out his hypocrisy about “there will be no more crimes” to “they’re going to kill your cat”, but we both knew it was there. 

“I’ll see you around.”

He left my house, walking out to the car that must’ve been waiting for him the whole time. I cleaned the dishes. Finally! It may have taken a long time, but now I’d gotten his approval or at least a lack of disapproval. And now he’d let me live my life in peace, at least for now.

I picked up Akili and put her on my bed. I didn’t usually use it, but if I were going to live a normal life, I could start by petting the cat here every once in a while. I laid down next to her. She curled up on my side and nosed her way under my hand.

“You ready to live what could be considered a normal life for an adult?”

She did not care. And in all honesty, neither did I. 

******

 

I’d stayed up all night redecorating my room. I did that pretty often. I didn’t do anything drastic, but I did move my bed over and rearrange my fairy lights. Mycroft didn’t know about them; I don’t think he should. He wouldn't care about the fact I had fairy lights, just that I was like this. An aesthetic, soft person. But no one ever saw my room. I did have a window, but it was small and covered with dark blue curtains. 

My aesthetic was less flowery and more blue-and-black sophisticated, but I did use some sky-blue lights instead of my overhead. Little natural light made it in. A few times, I’d considered putting a cute set of curtains around my bed, but since I didn’t sleep in it, it didn’t matter. And it was likely to be an annoyance to the only being to use my bed anyways. 

… Maybe I could go do that. In a few months, maybe? Make my room a hideaway instead of the parlor? If I was going to have frequent guests, then probably that’d be good. Well, John probably didn’t care much.

I thought about all of this on my way to the hospital again. I’d also managed to convince myself that I was just getting a normal day job, and this had nothing to do with John working there. It wasn’t because I thought he was cute. It was just that it was the closest flower shop to my house. And I could help people! I’d just forgotten to mention it since my other job was far more interesting and impressive. Not that I was trying to impress him, just interesting. That’s all I meant.

I arrived at the hospital quickly enough. It was only about a 20-minute bike ride. London had recently added some commuter trails to the area since so few people bothered with cars. I locked my bike in the back where Ida had shown me, the employee parking area. Putting on my apron from the basket in the front, I walked in through to the flower store.

Ida was already there. We had about a half an hour until it opened, so I swept while she worked on some flowers.

“Sherlock, dear, you never gave anyone your bank information. Would you like the cheques delivered to your house or to your bank?”

If that was what worked, I could certainly just cash them in monthly. It was the 8th of November, so I did have time. 

“A cheque to my home is fine. It’s paid at the end of the month, correct?”

“Yes. Now, what’s your address?”

“221 Bucky Street.”

She went to write it down. I smiled at her. She smiled as well, but then walked past me to open up the shop. 

“If I give you the key, can you open up tomorrow? I’m getting too old to arrive as early as I have been.”

“Of course.”

It was another 15 minutes before anyone came in. I arranged some flowers already in bouquets to make the colors pop until the first customer arrived. 

She was crying. Oh, damn. 

“C-Can I ge-t some flowers for my-my son? He’s been hit. He’s in a coma.”

That was very much oversharing. Ida rushed over. I think she could tell I wasn’t great with consoling people. She “hush-hush” ed the woman while I picked out some particularly strong-smelling flowers. People in comas were unlikely to be able to see, but if they were simply immobile, they could smell the flowers. In theory, at least. 

The woman was still sobbing as Ida helped her to the counter. I handed her the flowers as a recommendation as to what to get. She accepted them and paid, crying the whole time. I wished her a good day as she left.

Ida and I exchanged looks of sympathy for her. Depending on how old her son was, it was unlikely she’d get him back if he was truly in a coma.

The next few customers were unmemorable. They bought a few flowers and left. One was a little rude, but it didn’t matter much to me. 

I was looking through the window when I saw John. I quickly ducked into the back, pretending that I just had to get a few flowers arranged. I cut off some rose thorns and put them in a vase. Ida walked in.

“Hey, can you do me a favor? Pretend I’ve been working here for a while if that man comes in. Odd request, I know, but please?”

She did raise her eyebrows but nodded. I walked back out, the vase in my hand. John’s tour guide walked in. 

“And here is our flower store. Few of us come in here ever, but you may need to at some point. Ida’s worked here for years. And apparently, has a new assistant!”

Ida smiled. “He’s been here for a few months now, nearly half a year.”

I took that as my cue to introduce myself. “I’m Sherlock.” I pretended not to notice John until he turned to see me.

“Sherlock?”

“John! I didn’t know you were working at this hospital.”

“I thought you worked as a detective?”

“Well, I do need a day job.”

He seemed to accept that as an explanation. He and his tour guide left to go find more of the hospital.

Ida turned to me. “Oh, I see.”

I blushed. She was probably wrong about what she was thinking.

“You like him, don’t you? Well, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. You do need a job, don’t you?”

I blushed even deeper. She was very wrong! I was just looking for a job. I didn’t know he was going to work here! 

But something about a twinkle in her eye told me she’d been in my shoes before.

“Her name was Adela. She loved the circus, and I didn’t mention I was just about to work there. John, was it?”

I didn’t answer, but I thought that was enough for her to know.

“Well, if you ever need help with your courting, please, let me know.”

That was an odd way to phrase it. But it didn’t matter much. I wasn’t going to ask for her help. I wasn’t courting him. Nope. 

 

******

When I got back home, I had a text from John.

“You didn’t tell me you worked at the hospital”

“It’s a lot less interesting than my other job.”

He typed back right away.

“I mean, yeah, but stll.”

“*still”

“You knew I was working there”

“I thought it was the other hospital.”

I could almost hear John’s skepticism. Or maybe I was just projecting that. I did that a lot. I usually hoped people were just as smart as I was,, and when I know I’d not fall for something, I think they didn’t either.

But he must’ve because the next thing he typed was an “okay.”

“Hey, so i was thinking about that offer for cooking lessons”

“Yeah?”

“I’m free Thursday night, you?”

I didn’t have anything to do. Well, maybe. But the day after tomorrow now had something more important on its schedule than whatever else was going to happen. 

“Yeah, sure! See you over at my place? The number is 221.”

“Sounds good!”

I put my phone down. I managed not to squeal in excitement. I was going on a date! Screw criminals, even if they decided to make Thursday the day they attacked. I was about to get a normal life started, away from my brother and everything messed up in my family. 

Let’s go, beyotch.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UGHHHHHH  
> Really bad writer's block on this, sorry. I'll do better next chapter on word count and getting it up on time.

I had actually slept last night. That was a new sensation. Well, not new, but generally foreign. I hadn’t slept in who knows how long. I had work today. 

I biked over again. Nothing new. I did get to do a little more work with the flower arrangements themselves- Ida said her hands were getting just a little too old to do such delicate work. Her hands were starting to tremble. She probably shouldn’t have scissors in her hands all the time. So she sent me back with some instructions. 

Most of the bouquets were sympathy bouquets- understandable. A few instructions just told me to make them pretty- the sort of thing you’d get for children. Fun colors and no thorns. I still made sure not to put any chrysanthemums in there. 

She sent one customer back, someone who probably was a rich memer. They wanted me to help them make a bouquet for someone who they liked, but also hated, you know? 

Monkshood, Begonia, and some Arbutus flowers made a striking arrangement. She didn’t pay for a fancy container, just took out a ribbon from her purse and wrapped them up. We didn’t put in butterfly weed, the flower of “leave me” but she thought about it. 

Pretty much, her bouquet meant “think” and “be cautious”, but also “only thee do I love”. All in all, it sent very mixed messages. 

As I rang her purchase up, she explained that her friend in the hospital had no idea about flower language, but if she ever bothered to look it up…

I was a little nervous about that. I didn’t think there would actually be an issue, but this could ruin her friendship. But apparently, she put enough trust into the idea that nothing could possibly go wrong that she was willing to risk it. Ida had no idea what was happening but did give me a weird look. 

Eventually, though, I left for lunch. I was eating late now since I got out at 3. It didn’t make much sense to go for a lunch break. 

The hours were odd. I didn’t work Mondays except for the first one, and Tuesdays I worked from 10 to 6. Wednesdays, 9 to 3. Thursdays, 10 to 6 again, Friday off, and Saturdays 8 to 5. 

Still, that got me 24 hours a week, which was a part-time job. I could’ve worked more, but since it was just the start, Ida told me the first month would have fewer hours. 

As I biked back, all I could think about was work. Why was Ida so nice? 

… I should run her through the scanners when I got a chance. Speaking of which, why didn’t I have anything from Lestrade? Usually, I’d need to be called in for one reason or another. It was a little strange. Maybe there weren’t any unsolvable crimes for them. 

But I did have a little prep I had to do. My house was still clean, the bathroom stocked up, but I had to figure out what we’d be cooking. 

I grabbed a cookbook off the shelf where my mom used to keep them. As I looked through, I realized that I may be being taken advantage of. It was my food and my time! Why was I allowing him to share it? 

How goddamn gay was I? 

I guess it wasn’t too much of a problem for me, but I didn’t want to come across as someone who would give anything for a person they barely knew. But something about him told me it would all be okay, it would all work out. I’d learned to go with my gut instinct- it’s not something you can change about yourself, what aura you give off. Sure, magic was fake as shit, but there was still something about people that would tell you all about them that you may not pick up on, but your psyche sure does. 

Plus, he was hella cute. So even if he took advantage of me, that didn’t mean I didn’t get nothing out of it. 

Oh, now I was objectifying him. Why was my brain like this? What kind of puberty was I going through that all these hormones would show up now? Jesus. 

I shook myself out of the train of thought and back to reality where I still had to choose a dish to teach John how to make. Maybe something Spanish? 

I’d settled on the page that was the recipe for enchiladas I hadn’t had in years. From what I remembered, 7-year-old-me thought they were delicious as all heck. 

7-year-old-me had some interesting word choice and tried to be cool. But I still trusted my taste buds. 

Beef and beans, with our homemade enchilada sauce. It would make about 8 enchiladas- I could keep the leftovers. They weren’t even that difficult to make, but since John could only make pasta and grilled kebabs, this would be a new experience. All it would take was a little bit of shopping, which I could get done tomorrow. I should probably check in with Molly about how some of the bodies were coming along. 

Molly was in charge of the morgue, and I got some corpses from her, bruised them, and put a few in a freezer-type space to see if that affected how long it took for the bruises to show. They hadn’t shown up the last time I was there, but I’d only done it the day before. 

… I had work late tomorrow. I should probably get it done tonight. It was only 5, so the stores would be open. I grabbed some bags from the front door, didn’t let Akili out, and biked the half hour to the grocery. 

I got in and out quickly. I memorized the recipe and checked what I had, so all I really had to get was some beef, some onions, some chile peppers, and some chili powder. I threw them in my bag and started to bike home. 

Shit, I had to get Akili some food. The pet store was on the other side of town, wasn’t it? Damn. Oh well. I could just go get it later. I did have frozen beef in my bag. 

She screamed at me again when I came in. I picked her up and hugged her, to which she screamed. Again. She was a very loud and talkative cat. I just love her so much. 

God, I really must be going through some kind of second emotional puberty. All I had was… love to give. 

I put everything away and made sure the equipment was clean. It wouldn't do to not have bowls ready for my guest. 

My phone binged from the other room. It was Lestrade’s text tone! Yes! Something had happened!

… And it was just a thank you for the suicide from earlier in the week. 

Ugh.

I flopped down on my chair. 

Why did nothing interesting ever happen in this town?

******

The flower store proved yet another boring day, filled with flowers. I liked flowers though, so it wasn’t that much of a problem. It gave me a chance to practice with scents of drugs and of flowers and perfume, so it was beneficial to my other job as well. I got home that night at nearly 6- Ida had let me off early since I came in to open up. So I started getting ready. Most of the cooking would be done with John, but the counters could always use wiped down. At least, that’s what my mom had taught me. 

But I didn’t have time to think about what my mom had taught me. I had a date-thing. 

I ran to my closet and threw on something semi-fancy. Not the purple shirt- I couldn’t make it seem like I only owned one shirt. So probably just a white shirt? No, red. We did have a sauce to make. 

It was 6:30. An hour. I ran to the shower. I had just been biking. 

As I showered, I couldn’t help but think about John. Dear God, I really was lost wasn’t I? I turned the shower to a cold one. It wouldn’t do to face the person you’d just been jacking off to a half hour ago.

Luckily, nothing went wrong. I was starting to get a little worried. Was I actually going through a second puberty or some shit? Why was I so hormonal? Or maybe it was just being a more normal person. 

I shuddered at the thought and ran some gel through my hair. It was still only 6:45. I groaned. I was not going to make it to 7:30.

But somehow, I did. At around 7:20, the bell rang outside my house. I opened it to see John with a bottle of wine. 

“Hey! Come on in.”

I took the wine from him. This was what I was supposed to do, right? My brain had no idea what was going on. I scolded it and put the bottle down. It wasn’t super expensive, but the first few times you go over to someone’s house you should bring wine, right? 

Yeah. The part of my brain that wasn’t in panic mode assured me of that. Jesus, I needed to chill.

“Thank you for all this,” John said as he put his coat on the hanger. It was a pretty cold November. Something in the back of my head said it was a polar vortex, but I ignored that in favor of leading him into the kitchen.

“Have you ever made enchiladas?”

“No, I don’t think I have.”

“They’re pretty easy.”

He didn’t bother putting on an apron- I didn’t wear one either. It was a kind of messy recipe, the red sauce staining clothing pretty easily, but he didn’t seem to care.

“So how do we get started?”

Cue an epic cutesy montage of stirring the beef and making tortillas- I didn’t believe in store-bought ones. Mostly what happened was just a basic lesson thing. We didn’t even talk too much. Maybe I’d read too much into the situation? I’d offered this. Oh, god, did he think I liked him so much? I’d probably made things extremely awkward with what I’d said. Fuck.

While the enchiladas were baking, my phone went off from the other room. I excused myself and went to go get it. 

Lestrade’s panicked voice rang out from the other end. “Sherlock, we need you at the station now. We’ve got a massive issue.”

… Of course. This was a blessing and a curse. I mean, I was in the middle of a date, but this would also make it far less awkward. I hoped. 

“John, I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

I forgot I was on the phone with Lestrade as I called that out. “Sherlock, who’s John and why is he-”

I cut him off. “Nevermind that. Can you get someone to pick me up? My house is pretty far away, so it’ll take too long for me to bike if it’s really an emergency.”

The timer on the oven went off. I grabbed the hot pad off the top of the stove- a bad habit Mycroft instilled in me years ago- and pulled them out. 

In one word, I pushed John out the door. “I’msorryIneedtogorightnowsomething’swrong.”

“Wha-”

But I was already out the door and going towards the park that Lestrade had said he’d send a car to.

It arrived pretty quickly. I got in the passenger’s side, already unhappy about being pulled away from my date. I didn’t need to be crammed into a barred backseat. It was just some police officer I didn’t recognize, thank goodness. 

We drove in relative silence. Lestrade would probably tell me what was going on when I got there, so I didn’t need to bother getting the lowdown from some guy. I got a text from John.

“what’s going on?”

“why did you have to go?”

“is everything ok?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m going on a case. Explain tomorrow?”

I could almost hear the resignation in his voice as he texted back, “yeah whatever.”

I let out a sigh of relief. That was good. God, I thought I was a distinguished gay, but no, I was just a disaster. Perfect. 

We arrived shortly after I sent the text. Lestrade met me out front of the station. We couldn’t talk about what happened, so instead, he made light conversation as we worked our way back.

“So, Sherlock, who’s this John guy?”

I didn’t answer him. It was a pretty long story. Lestrade didn’t need to know.

“Okay then.”

When we arrived in the back room, files were spread over the table. I glanced at them. The only name that really stood out to me was a single word, on nearly every paper.

"Moriarty".


End file.
